


Consumed

by darcymariaphoster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I really don't know, but it kind of turned a bit dark?, i really don't know how to tag this, it really is supposed to be sweet, it's a birthday gift, kind of in the thoughts of both, metaphorically sweet, mildly depressing, sickly little romance fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcymariaphoster/pseuds/darcymariaphoster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are far from perfect, but they feel complete within each other. Broken but holding each other together with threads so feeble...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consumed

It wasn’t a lot, normally. A small kiss here, a passing hug there, a quiet whisper in the deafening silence between them. But it’s always enough for her, because Molly would never ask for anything he can’t give. And Sherlock gives her more than she ever asks for. He would give her the stars, if he could, just to see her smile.

 

 

Sherlock knows he owes her everything, his entire being. He’s not sure if she realizes just why repaying her is so important, but he doesn’t need her to. He could say so many horrible things to her, has in the past, and he hates himself for it. But she stays with him anyway, wraps her arms around him and holds him together. She holds all those little pieces together until he starts to feel whole again. And he’ll bring her flowers in apology, offer a tiny smile because he knows that it will make her whole day. He loves the way her face lights up before she tries to be stern again.

 

 

Things aren’t always good, because they both have bad days. When Sherlock feels beyond repair, he becomes catatonic. His filter becomes too thin and no one is safe from the words he’s willing to throw around in a feeble attempt to make himself feel better about himself. When Molly has her bad days, everyone knows it. Her silence is icy and Sherlock is never sure when it is acceptable to attempt to help her and when she’ll tear him apart.

 

 

And they still somehow manage to hold onto each other, and themselves.

  


She makes him _want_ to be better, to be kinder, to be _perfect_ for her. He spends hours upon hours thinking of ways to make her smile, to make her laugh, to make her happy. When he’s just on the brink of falling into one of his moods, he writes her a note. Simple things like, “You’re beautiful today” or “Will always love you”, so she’ll have them when he fails her.

 

 

Molly always thanks him, for everything. She always seems to accept his faults, even when they make her angry or miserable. Because she knows that his head is so poisonous, so full of self-loathing, and she wants to calm the storms. She wants to be the glue that holds him all together, fill all the holes that the missing pieces have left behind. She wants him to know how important he really is, because he sometimes seems to forget. So no matter what he says to her, she holds him anyway. She’s unsure if she’ll ever let go.

 

When they’re laying in bed at night, curled against each other and pretending that they can fix each other just by existing in each other’s space, they breathe each other’s air and whisper nothings. They pretend that there is nothing else in the world.

 

“I love you,” Sherlock will mutter when he believes she’s right on the cusp of sleep, believing he can almost see the words in the air as they waft above their heads.

 

Molly will smile softly and let him think that she’s almost asleep before she’ll reply with, “I love you.” And the words almost feel tangible between them, mending the spaces that their mingling breath cannot hold together.

 

Molly relishes in these moments, feeling so close that she could just crawl under Sherlock’s skin and stitch him up from the inside out. Sherlock holds onto these moments between them, feeling so warm and safe and utterly loved and he never wants them to end because he never knows what tomorrow will bring.

 

They make such an unlikely pair, a healing soul and a broken spirit. And they don’t care. Because all they see is perfection between them, the threads of each other winding around their fingers and their wrists and their arms and their chests and binding them together in a way that is absolute transcendence. They feel like nothing can break them, so long as they remind each other to breathe, so long as they are close enough to hear, to hold, to absorb.

 

And Molly will continue to promise to mend him in soft touches, in reminding him to eat, in whispering loving words that she knows he doesn’t hold. And Sherlock will continue to promise to be there for her, to be his best for her, to never lie to her even when he knows she doesn’t believe him. He will always rely on her, and she will always lean on him. They balance, tug, pull, lift, mend, and break each other.

 

One day, Sherlock believes, they will fall into each other and never be able to untangle because they’ll be consumed by one another. When he tells her so, she doesn’t correct him. In all honesty, she already knows he’s consumed her.

 

And that’s perfectly fine.

  
Because love is too strange to argue with.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend's birthday in literally a few hours (which is why it's so short). I've NEVER written this pairing before, so I wasn't quite sure what I was doing. I don't know if I necessarily like this but it's done and I had a bit of fun with all the metaphors. Hope this isn't a disgrace to the Sherlolly portion of the fandom. :) 
> 
> Happy birthday, my friend! Hope it's been fantastic!!
> 
> Please leave any thoughts, critique, praise, or whatever if you feel so inclined. Just please do not be hateful.


End file.
